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will make you throw up.”
    I knew Canadians had some
tricks up their sleeves when it came to drinking (or sobering up quickly), and
since Michael was a true-blue Canuck, he must have gotten that recipe from his
grandmother, or maybe his grandfather; who knows. What ever was the case, I felt a lot better when I left the kitchen to have a shower and
change into the jeans and t-shirt I had brought with me.
    A few hours later, after
we had repaired the minor damages our guests had done to the garden and
house–inevitable when you’ve got over fifty people roaming your place and pool
for hours on end–and cleaned the kitchen, Allie and I left that piece of paradise
to return to our place.
    It wasn’t going to be
“our place” for much longer, though. We were due to leave on Wednesday, the
first of August. Our moving boxes had been picked up by the transport company
and we each hoped that we received our own boxes at the other end. I wouldn’t have
known what to do if I received Allie’s belongings in Washington, D.C., and if
she received mine in Chicago.
    “Are you nervous?” Allie
asked me as we were comfortably ensconced in the backseat of the taxi that was
taking us to the airport. Allie’s flight was an hour apart and probably at
opposite end of the airport from mine.
    “A little,” I replied
quietly. Truth be told, I was nervous as a bride on her wedding night. My
insides were churning up all the possible scenarios that my mind was throwing
at it. There wouldn’t be any relief in sight until I had at least one day under
my belt as a medical practitioner.

 
    Thank goodness the flight
to Washington, D.C. was not departing from a gate anywhere near the one I had
gone through on my way to Nebraska. Yet thinking of Jeff was inevitable.
Although this was Wednesday morning, there were quite a few people at the
departure gate. Most of them I figured were regular commuters who had business
to attend to in D.C. on a weekly basis. As I looked around me to see who was
likely to sit in the seat next to mine on the plane, my eyes rested on two
ladies who appeared intent on discussing what looked like knitting patterns in
a magazine. I silently prayed to God that they wouldn’t be allocated the seats
beside me. I don’t think I could take even an hour of their endless prattles.
But, I guess the good Lord must have listened to my prayer, for I had a couple
of businessmen taking the seats next to mine. They didn’t say a word during the
whole flight. As soon as they sat down, they opened theirlaptops and began working. I read the next couple of chapters of
my Stephen King book in blessed peace and wondered what the next day would
bring.

 
    Chapter
5

 
    Mrs. Camborne, my new
landlady, was expecting me. She opened the front door of the apartment building
as soon as she saw me step out of the cab. She looked very pleased to see me
for some reason.
    “So glad you’ve made it,”
she said as she held the elevator doors open for me. Although there were only
three floors to the building, a few of the older tenants appreciated the facility.
And so did I , at the time. Lugging two heavy suitcases
up three flights of stairs was not part of my exercise routine, unless, of
course, I was looking forward to pulling a ligament in my shoulders or doing
damage to my spine.
    “Yes, Mrs. Camborne, I
made it as you said. It’s been nothing short of an exciting ordeal, if I may
describe it that way.”
    Smiling and nodding, she
said, “Well, you’re here now and I have a surprise for you.”
    That announcement had me
worried. Did she change the appliances in the kitchen; decide to make huge
repairs in the bathroom or perhaps renovate the whole place? “You know,” I
said, smiling demurely, “I didn’t expect anything…”
    “I know, I know, dear,
but a young lady like you, moving to D.C. for a new job and all that, needs a
bit of looking after.”
    “Well, thank you,” I
said, getting my bags out of the elevator while Mrs.